


Seedlings

by primeideal



Series: Cat's Cradle [1]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only survivor of the GalaxyTree, aristh Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill breaks the law of Seerow's Kindness and lets human children join his fight. The resistance to the Yeerk invasion might be small and fragile as a wish-flower, but the planet Earth has secrets of its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aximili

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an AU idea from derinthemadscientist on Tumblr. Potentially the jumping-off point to a much bigger series, but no promises--I'll post what I can. This fic will update on Wednesdays.

My name is Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.

It is not an Earth name. I am not from this planet, the one called Earth amid water. I am an Andalite. I come from a homeworld rich with ancient trees, below red and golden skies, abounding in nourishing grass. I had friends there, classmates, fellows. Even family.

There are no free Andalites here. If I have seen anyone who resembles me, most of the time—four legs to balance on, stalk eyes to see in every direction, tail blades to do battle—it is only a Controller, a tool of the Yeerks. The enemy.

In their natural form, the Yeerks are unassuming slugs. Blind and deaf, they subside in pools of sludge. But once they have entered the brain of another living being, that creature becomes helpless to move or speak or act of their own accord. The Yeerks control them entirely. It is a life of imprisonment and being made to serve the will of a vast empire—a fate worse than death.

We Andalites fight the Yeerks. In part because our military and technological advancements are the finest in the galaxy, and we always stand ready to defend justice. In part because we bear the responsibility of what the Yeerks have done, in breaking free of their planet to tyrannize worlds across the galaxy. And when one prince has fallen, victim of his own foolhardiness, the burden of vengeance falls to all of us. His cousins.

As I said, I am far from the rest of my species. Isolated on a backwards planet, absent the tools to restore contact with the fleet. Abandoned. Forgotten.

But not alone.

We came in the _GalaxyTree_ , a great Dome Ship. We emerged into the darkness of real space, and I first glimpsed the planet Earth from a distance. I had learned about it in school, seen holograms, but to me it was just one speck among many.

I could hear distant thought-speech, the casual discussions of warriors unconcerned who heard their chatter. A couple of fighter pilots were bantering about the academy standards. Had the caliber of recruits risen since the days of my father, when joining the military wasn't immediately followed by preparation for war? Or were there more arbitrary restrictions in our day, that wouldn't have mattered in the past?

I didn't know. I didn't particularly care.

Until the moment when an announcement flashed through the ship's computer. ‹Bug fighters launched on an intercept course. Prepare to launch fighters and enter gravitational range.›

All about me, the ship crackled to life—and perhaps, impending death. Warriors rushed to their stations, officers moved to the bridge. I followed the crowd. As a mere  _aristh—_ a cadet—I had no battle rank on the  _GalaxyTree_ . I was there to obey orders, if anyone had known me well enough to give them.

Instead, all I heard was dissent. ‹You'll be useless in the fray!›

‹These battles are fought in-atmosphere! And besides, the device predates—›

‹—at least a dozen—›

‹—should be held in reserve, for—›

‹Where do I go?› I asked. I'd never been this close to so many Yeerk troops. Simulations, transport work, even fending off Skrit Na—but nothing like this.

People ignored me.

So I continued up the dropshaft. ‹I can fly a fighter,› I volunteered, ‹as well as any warrior.›

A couple fighter pilots turned their stalk eyes to me. I had not intended to be immodest, but it was true—the computers could handle most of the navigation, via thought-speak commands. At least, they had so far. When I was learning.

But they seemed intent on ignoring me and going back to whatever they'd been arguing about before. ‹—with that attitude, we'd have been overrun by—›

‹—nothing's ancient enough to be traditional in this context, don't be absurd—›

‹—it's not bigotry when it's—›

Evidently, the officers were just as tired by all the back-and-forth as I was. ‹So be it,  _aristh_ Aximili,› said Captain Nerefir gravely. ‹Do your duty.›

‹At your service,› I bowed slightly, and rushed into the nearest fighter. There was some bric-a-brac strewn about the dashboard; I ignored it, focusing on launching.

Several warriors, more experienced than me, had already taken off, in pursuit of the Bug Fighters. I followed them, adjusting to control of the ship's utilitarian navigation system. Easy enough to control. Then, up ahead, a fighter in range! I shot, but the enemy craft easily spiralled out of distance. I turned to follow it, but it was blasted away by another burst of Andalite fire.

I continued my pursuit of another craft, this one gaining speed as it accelerated towards the planet. I shot, and this time, struck! The Yeerk ship's engine was hit, and it began to idle. I took another shot, but that one was unnecessary; once again, a fellow Andalite fighter had vaporized the stranded Yeerk vessel.

And so on. I cannot say I ever destroyed a Bug fighter myself, but I handled my little vessel respectably and got off a few shots that at least debilitated the Yeerk forces slightly. The battle could only have lasted minutes, but I was so electrified, running on nervous energy, that it felt like we'd been time-dilating at maximum burn.

And then—I don't mean to put stock in the old superstitions—but whether I was subconsciously responding to signals from the onboard computer or spooked by the supernatural, I felt dread seep through my hearts. From beyond us, coming into range of the _GalaxyTree,_ was the grim shadow of a Visser's Blade Ship.

Far above the blue planet, streaks of light arced back and forth—shots from the “tail” of our Dome ship, the great ship I would never see again, and the battle-ax. I struggled to keep my focus on the tasks at hand and hoof, gyrating out of range of another Bug fighter, while straining to get word from the computer.

Finally, the message came to take up defensive formations and begin targeting the Blade ship. The planet and its strangers could wait. My Andalite cousins came first, and defending the trees and grasses within the dome, the only fragment of our homeworld for light-years, would be paramount.

So I turned the fighter back into position, and was ready to take aim at whichever Visser dared threaten the _GalaxyTree_. The fighter wasn't mine, nothing about it particularly distinctive, but for that moment, it was enough.

That was when it got shot.

By the Blade ship or just another fighter, it didn't matter. All I knew was that the engines were disabled, and then, a moment later, the exterior rattled again. I was falling, and unbidden, the words of ceremony rushed through my mind. I served my people and the prince—but they were gone and growing even more distant. Perhaps, in the end, only honor would remain.

I certainly couldn't muster the control to steer the ship with my own hands. Maybe some basic thought-speak commands helped it stabilize as best it could. Maybe it was the ship's auto-pilot, or maybe it was the hand of fate. Either way, when I hit the ground, I went sprawling across the floor. My torso was wounded, and my tail in weaker shape still.

But I was alive.


	2. Marco

My name is Marco.

I'm no stranger to shortcuts. I can tell you the most efficient way to microwave a cheap dinner, how to pad out your English essay so it looks like it's three pages long, how to skip to the actual challenging levels of arcade games.

Challenging, that is, for those of us who don't get stuck on the first level. But enough about me.

The point is, when it came time to walk home from the mall, I was never going to recommend taking the long way. I was at the mall because Jake, my best friend, had just learned he wouldn't make the basketball team. This kind of thing was never a big deal for me—in part because I'm kind of not exactly tall—but Jake was taking it hard.

Retail therapy is a little expensive for my tastes, but at least we didn't lose too many quarters to the nefarious Sleaze Trolls, and Jake seemed to have perked up a little. His cousin Rachel (who's gorgeous, but don't tell her I said that), and her friend Cassie, had joined us as we were leaving. So had Jake's friend Tobias. “You should definitely go out for the baseball team in the spring!” he was rattling on, while Jake either considered the offer or pretended to pay attention. “We need some outfielders who can hit, and you'd be great.”

“Maybe,” said Jake.

“Don't be modest,” said Cassie, “I bet you'd do really well.” 

“Um,” he started. “Thanks? I...basketball is my favorite, though.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cassie, who didn't sound like she wanted to take a position on the hard-hitting issue.

“Tom was great on the middle school team, though,” said Rachel. Tom is Jake's brother. “Got to keep up.”

“Maybe not,” Jake said, averting her gaze.

I was about to try and step in to change the subject, but I didn't have to. “Hey,” said Tobias, first quietly, then louder. “Hey. Guys?”

“What's up?” Rachel asked.

“What _is_ up?” he repeated in a funny, kind of sing-song way. “You tell me.”

Rachel blinked. We all blinked, and when we looked up, we saw it; an impossibly close light hurtling into view. “It's a UFO,” Cassie said.

“A UFO?” I repeated. “Here?”

“Yeah,” said Rachel. “Maybe we should go identify it?”

I don't want to say that it crash-landed. Okay, maybe it kind of did crash-land. But what did we know? None of us had ever seen an alien spaceship before, I didn't want to preemptively insult extraterrestrial parking skills. All I'll say is, it hit the ground in a loud, startling way. I shivered, a little.

But I wasn't scared. I don't think any of us were scared.

“What do we do?” Cassie asked.

“Can we talk to it?” said Jake. “Maybe it's friendly.”

“And if it's not?” I said, looking up at what seemed to be a weapon—a long protrusion from the back of the ship, that seemed like it could fire something at you. Even at very minimized capacity, this thing—whatever it was—seemed like far more than a bunch of junior-high kids knew what to do with.

“Hello?” Tobias finally addressed the ship itself. “Can you understand us?”

“Why would it understand us?” I asked.

“Aliens on TV speak English,” Cassie volunteered.

“Oh, now you're an expert on aliens?”

“I never said that, I just...”

“We won't hurt you,” Rachel called. “Can you talk to us?”

‹Hello?›

It wasn't sound so much as a voice, that came from the ship but wound up in my head without ever really seeming to pass through the air between. “You heard that, right?” I asked.

“I definitely heard it,” said Jake. The others nodded.

“Who are you?” Tobias asked. “Can you come out?”

‹I don't—› it broke off. ‹I don't know.›

“Can we help you?” Cassie asked.

“Is there a door?” said Rachel. “Something we can force open?”

“Guys,” I said. “When did we decide this was a good idea?”

But I was frozen too, and I knew I wouldn't be turning and running any time soon. Not to get help, the police, someone. Not even to get a camera or to try and profit off whatever had happened. Something important was going on, something huge and world-changing, and all I could do was freeze up in place. Even that felt like a big deal.

‹No. If you are—not enemies—then stay where you are.›

What opened must have been a door, once, when it stood upright along the side of the ship. Or maybe the top or the bottom or however else aliens climbed into their spaceships. Not like I know how anything works in zero-gravity or whatever. We could see light inside, but only intermittently, like it had gone out in the “landing.”

Slowly, the creature limped out of the opening. I say creature—it was clearly not from this planet. Its body was blue, the color strangely illuminated by the broken light from the ship, and covered in fur. Two eyes rose from the top of its head, and there was no mouth where you'd think to find one.

It walked on four legs, or would have, if it wasn't staggering along on its forelimbs while the latter two dragged behind. And behind even those was a tail, drooping along the debris of the construction site, that came to a sharp blade at the end. It would have been threatening if it looked like the alien was still able to maneuver it upright.

‹Earthers?› it asked, hesitantly. ‹Not enemies?›

“No,” said Jake, and Tobias was nodding.

‹Then—› The alien broke off and stumbled towards the ground. Tobias rushed forward, kneeling to prop him up. I say him, it was a male alien, although that was the least of our concerns at the time. Point is, his rear legs buckled, but Tobias grimaced and tried to brace him.

Cassie squinted, looking at what seemed to be an injury on the alien's torso, as if she knew what healthy blue fur was supposed to look like. “You're hurt.”

‹Of course. The crash...›

“We'll call for help,” I said. Just a minute before I hadn't wanted to leave, wanted to be part of whatever was happening. But this alien—creature—some kind of person—was hurt, and we couldn't handle him alone. I know, I know, you hear all kinds of stories about meeting creepy strangers in the construction site that you don't want anything to do with. Just this once, though, it felt like someone needed to do something.

‹No!› I hadn't heard fear before, even as he was clearly in pain from a life-threatening wound. This was panic. ‹I cannot be seen by anyone.›

“But your wound?” Cassie started. “Jake, give me your shirt—we can make bandages—”

“Why can't you be seen?” Rachel asked, as Jake warily started to comply.

‹Enemies,› said the alien. ‹Our enemies are on this planet.›

“Enemies?” Cassie asked. “I know we humans have done some—some stuff, but how did we ever offend...whoever you people are?”

‹Not you—ahh—› The alien spasmed, but he almost seemed to give a smile with his eyes. ‹Not free humans. The Yeerks.›

“Yeerks?” I repeated.

‹Parasites. Slugs. They may appear harmless, but once they infest someone, they are controlled—helpless to move their own body. The Yeerk has enslaved you. They are here, on this planet, in disguise—they could be anyone.›

“But what about you?” said Rachel. “Can we take you to a hospital—her parents—someone—”

“You said these—Yeerks?” I repeated. “Could be anywhere. Maybe a hospital isn't safe.”

“You can't die,” said Jake, “not here, you're safe, we're friends.”

‹Your primitive medicine cannot help me. Besides, even if the wound were to heal, my tail is useless—I would be a _vecol_ , a cripple. Save yourselves, stay far from the Yeerks, and leave me in peace.›

“I thought you just said they were everywhere. How are we supposed to stay away?”

‹They may already have tracked the ship. Get out of here!›

“Excuse me,” I said. “But I'm not sure you get the picture. This is Planet Earth. We're not used to...Yeerk-parasites from outer space, and we definitely don't know what to do with four-eyed, mouthless blue furballs.”

“Marco,” Cassie began.

“Gimme a minute. My point is, unless you've got a bunch of judgy comrades on that piece of junk—” He shuddered, and I wasn't sure whether it was due to the pain. “Yeah, thought not, the last thing anyone here cares about is whether you can hold your _tail_ upright. So swallow your pride and let her help you.”

We felt another flash of emotion sent silently, mind-to-mind. Amusement? Bitterness? Warmth? ‹Perhaps you are right. But even so, this wound runs too deep to treat. Maybe...›

“What?” Tobias asked. “If there's any way you can fight this, you have to try. Don't give up now—we want to help you.” 

‹If I had a weapon,› said the alien. ‹One of you, can you search the ship? Crawl in through the bottom.›

“How's a weapon going to help?” I asked.

‹I'll go,› said Rachel, and with that, my best friend's cousin, sometimes-gymnast, would-be honor student, began walking to scrummage an alien spaceship.

I was kind of terrified, and kind of jealous.

“Is that enough?” Tobias was asking. “A weapon, against—brain-stealing aliens who shot your ship down? What's that going to do? We want you to live.”

‹I don't know if I'm strong enough,› he stammered. ‹But maybe—›

From inside the ship, where Rachel was crouching to reach inside, a flash of blue light.

‹There's something I need to try,› said the alien. ‹Don't be afraid.›

“We won't,” said Cassie.

“More so than usual,” I muttered.

And that was when the alien began to change.

His wound coagulated as his body shrunk away, his tail shriveled into something lighter, and he even grew a mouth. He shrunk down, the two hind legs gathering strength even as they fell to the ground, and two more legs sprung out of nowhere.

“What?” Cassie began, while Tobias murmured “Who...?”

I was impressed. Maybe these Yeerks, as secretive as they could be, had a match in the visitors we'd met. Fighting two bodies at once with...two bodies at once. Sort of. Maybe?

A minute later, there was no trace of the injured body that had stumbled out of the ship. Instead, there was a smaller, six-legged creature, with its colorful fur the only similarity. Yet when he spoke to us, in our heads, the voice was the same. ‹Aha!› he exulted. ‹Ah, so much for espionage!›

“Espionage?” Jake asked.

“What happened?” Cassie asked. “Are you okay?”

‹Okay? I am _well_! It's only a morph—a temporary transformation. I am borrowing this _djabala's_ body, but now, behold!›

“Behold what?”

That was Rachel. She'd emerged from the ship, a collection of alien objects tucked under her arms. In particular, she was gripping what seemed to be some kind of sleek laser gun.

“Wait, where'd it go?”

‹'It' is right here,› said the alien.

Rachel dropped the laser gun. And whatever else she'd gathered. Scrambling to pick it, she called out, “What on Earth? I mean, what _not_ on Earth?”

“It just...morphed,” said Jake. “Changed, transformed.”

And just as he had morphed, the alien started changing back; the tail grew long, the middle legs shrunk away, and his body rose tall. But there was no wound to be seen. This time around, he looked like he had never crashed.

“That heals your injuries?” I asked. “That's amazing.”

‹It works on the DNA level. When I become the _djabala_ , I turn into a healthy copy of that creature. Resume my original DNA, and injuries are no longer a concern.›

“And you couldn't do so sooner?”

‹Morphing can be exhausting. Without much energy, I wasn't sure...and it was designed for stealth.›

“Good thing you remembered,” Cassie muttered.

‹Well, now. What did you find?› The alien turned his stalk eyes to Rachel. ‹Does the shredder work?›

“I'm assuming this is the shredder?” she asked, passing him the gun-thing.

‹You are perceptive, for a biped.› He tapped at it, but there was no visible effect. ‹Broken. Of course.›

“You're alive,” Tobias pointed out, “you're in one _piece_ , that counts for something. That counts for a lot.”

Jake nodded down at the objects in Rachel's hand: a sturdy-looking green ball with a thin stem poking out of it, a blue cube that gave off a faint light, and a small, black piece of plastic that looked kind of like a computer chip. “What do those do?”

‹This does nothing,› said the alien, weighing the green ball. ‹The _Escafil_ device, I have already used, and as for the other, it seems I do not need it today.›

“Are they weapons? Can they help?”

‹Against the Yeerks? No. Unless...› He trailed off. ‹We should go. The Yeerks will follow the ship.›

“Is there anything else?” I asked. “Bits and pieces, something we could use?”

‹'We'? You Earthers think you merit Andalite technology! And to think we tried to defend this planet—how many hundreds dead, for a bunch of toddling bipeds! I don't know how you manage to walk without falling over.›

“Take it easy,” said Cassie. “This is our planet. The human race has been around for a while—we've learned a trick or two, over the years.”

“You say we need to go,” said Tobias. “Where can you go? These—Controllers—they'd notice what you were, if they saw you? What do you live on?”

‹On grass, of course. We are grazers.› 

“You eat grass?” I asked. “Without a mouth?”

‹Through our hooves, we eat as we run. But really, this is not the time.›

Cassie hesitated. “There are woods behind my house—out on the farm—lots of grasses there. You could hide there, if you could get there safely.”

“Is there something else you could...turn into?” Jake asked. “Something that wouldn't be as recognizable?”

‹The _kafit_ bird!› said the alien. ‹I can fly there, if you guide me—it will be less conspicuous. But...›

“But what?” Tobias pressed.

‹I cannot carry those,› he nodded down at the items Rachel was still holding, ‹and I can't leave them for the Yeerks to run across, either. I...›

“We can carry them,” Tobias said.

‹Can I trust you? With our technology?›

“You've trusted us with the fact that you're here and an alien on Earth,” Jake pointed out. “Give us a little credit.”

The alien turned his eyes up to the stars. ‹I suppose I have no choice,› he said, and began the process of changing—morphing—again.

It wasn't any less strange to watch. This time, as he shrunk down and his tail blade vanished, he grew wings—six pairs of them! Another small mouth took shape, as again the stalk eyes were absorbed into the bird's little head. Then he was rising, circling above us and glancing down at the ship one last time before addressing Cassie. ‹How far away is your home?›

“Not too far—we were just walking back,” she began.

‹Very well.›

“I'll take these,” she said, gathering up the objects Rachel had been holding.

“What about the...shredder?” Rachel asked.

The alien beat his wings, hovering. ‹I suppose she had better bring it along as well, for safekeeping.›

“And what do we do?” I asked, as Rachel passed it off. “We meet an alien and we're just supposed to...what? Keep secret? Pretend this never happened?”

‹The Yeerks could be anywhere,› he said. ‹For your own benefits, it is safest to keep quiet.›

Jake hesitated. “We'll talk tomorrow, maybe.”

“We won't leave you alone,” said Tobias. “You came to fight for us, yeah? We'll protect you.”

‹How?›

“Give us a chance. We'll find a way.”

‹Perhaps we can discuss this later. For now, we should move.›

“Okay,” he said. “Take care. Hey. What's your name?”

‹What?›

“We didn't introduce ourselves, did we? I'm Tobias, that's Cassie.”

“I'm Jake,” Jake said.

“Rachel.”

“Marco.”

‹My name is Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.›

We paused. “It's not fair,” I finally said, “you can do it with your telepathy thing, we have to pronounce all that? Can we call you Ax?”

‹If you flee the premises before the Yeerks arrive, you may address me as you desire,› said Aximili. Ax.

“Okay, okay,” said Cassie. “This way.”

He took off above her, and then we were standing there, the four of us, Rachel squinting at the wreckage as if she'd found some other shiny object. “Is this really happening?” she finally stammered. “Is any of this...”

“It's real,” said Tobias, quietly.

“We should go,” Jake said. “If the other spaceships show up...”

“Yeah,” I said. “And. Jake?”

“What?”

“Put your shirt back on.”

 


	3. Cassie

My name is Cassie.

I'd led Aximili, the alien, back to the woods. Back past my house and the barn, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic. “That's where my dad works,” I explained. “He's a vet—an animal doctor, he takes care of injured animals here.”

‹Your father?› he asked.

“Yes.”

‹Who lives here? Are there many generations?›

“Just my mom and dad, and me. I mean, this farm has been in my family for hundreds of years—but right now, it's only the three of us.”

‹Do many humans live in such households?›

“Well, yeah. I mean, I'm just a kid, you know, I'm still—in school, I don't have a job or anything. So we all live with our parents.”

He paused for a moment, taking this in. ‹You're not grown adults? Any of you?›

“No! We're kids.”

‹Children.› Aximili settled down on the grass. ‹I see I have much to learn about this planet.›

“We can help you. If there's something you need, that we can bring out here...we'll make it work. Where should I put these?”

‹In your house or in here, wherever is safer,› he said. ‹If your parents are...›

“My parents aren't alien slugs. If that's what you're asking.”

‹You cannot be sure!› he protested. ‹You would have no way of knowing.›

“They love me. I know they do.”

‹Yeerks can access all of their hosts' memories. Speak exactly the words the host would say. Now, if I leave these here...well, anyone running across them would have me to reckon with anyway, even if I was asleep. They would not leave me be. Yes, I'll keep them with me.› Fully demorphed now, he pressed his foot into the grass. ‹It is edible!›

“That's good, right?”

‹Of course. Is there a source of water nearby?›

“A stream,” I pointed. “Want to go see?”

‹Please.›

He followed me deeper into the woods, to the little stream where I held up, still toting the strange objects Rachel had salvaged from the ship. Aximili walked up to the edge, placing one of his forehooves in the water. “Careful,” I called, but he didn't move any further, staying there a moment to soak it in.

‹Fresh,› he finally said. ‹This will be livable.›

“Do you sleep outdoors?”

‹Yes. Perhaps I could use a tarpaulin, or something to keep my possessions dry, if need be. But I can make do here.›

“It doesn't rain very often,” I explained, as we walked back deeper into the woods. “The water stays fresh, but you'll keep dry if you want to.”

‹Good.› His front eyes seemed to rove ahead through the darkness as his stalk eyes looked up, searching for shelter.

I couldn't decide what made him stop where he did, mostly sheltered but in view of a clearing, but he paused, dug his hooves into the grass a little more, and then turned to me. ‹Would you set that down?› He indicated the ball.

I did so. In fact it wasn't a perfect sphere—one side was a little flat, and it balanced there, with the stem or whatever it was poking out of the top.

‹Step back.›

I backed away, still holding the blue box and the black chip.

Then— _crack!_ —Aximili swung his tailblade, and the ball flattened. A pile of dirt spilled out of it—alien soil of some kind, brought across the galaxy to the forest behind our barn.

“Are you practicing something? Is that, like, a fight move?”

‹If only the Yeerks were as easily swept aside as this!› It was too dark to get much of a sense from his eyes—he couldn't really smile—but there was some emotion in his silent voice, even if it was just a tease. ‹No.›

He bent down, awkwardly—it couldn't have been easy to start crouching on four legs—as if trying to transplant it. Was it really a plant, growing inside the spaceship?

“Can I help you?” I asked. “I can get a shovel or something, maybe. Are you trying to plant that?”

‹Please,› he said.

It didn't take long for me to find one—there's a whole pile of stuff in the barn, mostly vet equipment, but you never know what would turn up. I paced back to the woods, hoping I could find my way to where Aximili was staying, and then questioning myself—would it be better if he was somewhere deeply hidden, so no one could find him? No matter, he was there, and wordlessly let me dig a small hole before gently setting the plant inside and starting to pack dirt back in.

‹The fighter that I...crashed,› he finally said. ‹It wasn't mine.›

“What?”

‹Some of the princes, the officers, the most high-ranking warriors? They have—had—› He broke off. ‹Their own fighters. Alongside the _GalaxyTree—_ which was our Dome Ship.›

I didn't understand, but it seemed important to him, so I let him go on.

‹I am just an _aristh_ , a cadet. That was not my own, all this technology belonged to someone else. Some low-rank warrior, who didn't even have a fighter of his own—he did the rituals in common space.›

“Rituals?” I repeated.

‹This is a wish-flower. He would have reverenced it to hope for the safe deliverance of some family member—likely a child, on the homeworld. Perhaps a younger sibling, or a nephew or niece. I don't know whose it was. He must have thought he would have time to come back for it. And I ran ahead. I wanted to fight...›

I remembered the way he'd talked about us—primitive bipeds. If he thought there were any of his own people alive, he'd have wanted to seek them out. Were they all dead, for him to be stuck here with us, and so many regrets? “It's not your fault,” I finally said.

‹What?›

“Your...comrades? I don't think they'd want you to carry their deaths, with you. You have...some kind of a purpose, here.” Not that I knew the first thing about giving him advice on carrying out an interplanetary war, but it felt like he needed to hear _something_. “Don't be afraid to move forward.”

‹I will fight as long as I can. But if this little wish-flower still lives, I want to plant it here—so something can grow, from where I came. Perhaps this earth is not so different.›

I smiled. “Good for you.”

‹All the same, this does not absolve me of my failure. I could—perhaps should have gone down with the ship, left the fighter for someone who could accomplish something with it. But I was selfish, and I stayed alive while they died.›

“But they'd want you to keep fighting, yeah?”

‹It's too late. I can't...›

“You can't change what happened. But that doesn't mean you have to give up.”

‹Can't betray their trust any further.› He turned to the blue box, still shining with an unearthly glow. ‹You must understand, there is a reason that we do not share technology with inferior species.›

“Inferior?” I repeated.

Aximili paused. ‹ _Seerow's Kindness_. Seerow was a prince, one of our leaders, one of the first to make contact with the Yeerks. He believed they were a—worthy society, capable of progress, and gave them access to Z-Space technology. Setting them free to tyrannize the galaxy. After that, how could we condone any such transfer of technology?›

He'd rounded on me, as if demanding an answer. I didn't know what to say; he started pacing back and forth. Maybe, I remembered, that was the alien equivalent of junk food, to deal with the stress.

“I don't understand,” I finally said. “You don't trust us, humans, because any of us could be these Yeerks, right? So—don't make yourself public, don't share technology. We'll help you hide.”

‹Not _any_ of you,› he said. ‹You five...children. You didn't react like Controllers. You, I can trust. So help me.›

“But we're not getting the spaceship back,” I trailed off. No, that technology wasn't what he'd meant, not with the way he kept one eye turning towards the box.

‹I would never have considered it, if I hadn't already come here, left the others. I have no reputation left, nor any peers who will judge me for it. But now... I have nothing left to lose.› He glanced up at me. ‹You do. You have your own lives, your own safety, to be concerned with. Not even we draft all children.›

“We don't know how to fight.”

‹Espionage, however? I could make clandestine operatives out of even bipeds like you. Or your fellow earthlings.›

“Us? Spies?” I said. It was ridiculous. Absurd.

As crazy as talking to an alien, trying to find a place for him to hide.

Could I answer for the others? For Rachel, my beautiful, athletic best friend? For Tobias or Marco? Jake? We were all just kids, I wanted to say, not space-cadets. But in a world where people were not what they seemed, where aliens lurked behind familiar faces—I wasn't sure I had the right to, anymore.

“We'll come back,” I said. “I don't know who, I don't know when. I don't know if we'll want to fight or spy or do anything. But we'll be here for you.”

His eyes gave another one of those alien—but somehow not opaque—expressions, almost like a smile. ‹Thank you.›


	4. Tobias

My name is Tobias.

I've talked to an alien. I've listened to its telepathic “voice” in my head. I've tried my best to welcome it to our planet and to represent the human race, as best I can, to our interstellar ambassador.

And then, I had to go back to school.

It was the longest day I'd ever spent not paying attention in class. I wanted to doodle on every sheet of notes—the arc of the spaceship, or even the brave, mysterious face of the alien himself. But it had to be secret, I remembered. If anyone could be a Controller, then maybe even the classmates trying to copy my notes...

But the truth is, I wasn't even that worried about the prospect of the mind-stealing parasites. Which sounds funny, I guess—maybe you'd think that being told about an evil empire coming to take your planet would weigh on your mind a little more. I couldn't stop thinking about the first alien, though. Aximili. How he'd survived—morphed—back from all the wounds he'd sustained, how he immediately tried to warn us about the threat we faced. I knew I had to see him again, to speak to him. I was almost jealous of Cassie for having access to the woods, that she'd gotten to be the first one to pick his brains and talk to him. It was ridiculous, I knew. I was just a kid, it wasn't like I had my own yard or anything. All the same...

I ate lunch with the others, that day. “We have to go back,” I pleaded. “There has to be something we can do, to help.”

Cassie looked nervous, but said nothing. Marco jumped in. “Are we sure this is real? I mean, not that you guys are crazy or anything, but this is all a little...”

“Of course it's real,” said Rachel, “what do you think?”

“Hey,” said Jake. “We don't need to all decide together. If you want to go, go. If you want to leave it be—then leave him be. Just don't talk about it, be reasonable.”

“Jake,” said Marco. “You really think I'm going to let you go off into the big scary woods to talk to you-know-whats on your own? You need a babysitter.”

“Just like we need one in the construction site, right?” Rachel asked.

“I just don't want to pressure anyone into it,” said Jake.

“I'm going,” I repeated. “Whatever happens, I want to be part of it.”

“Me too,” said Rachel.

Jake nodded, and Marco flipped his hands over in a helpless expression. “See what I mean?”

There was still the rest of the day to get through—Mr. Pardue in science, Ms. Paloma in history class—and I focused on that about as well as I had in the morning. Again, I could have made the excuse of “the world could be overrun by aliens tomorrow, what's the point of dissecting cow eyes today,” if I wasn't buzzing in excitement. The other alien had been real, too, and he was still here.

I had to get directions to Cassie's place—her dad's a vet, but they take care of wild animals rather than pets, so I'd never had to take my cat there. Of course, like most kids, I'd been to The Gardens, the theme park and zoo where Cassie's mom worked. But beyond that, I didn't know Cassie too well, or any of the others, besides Jake, who I'd seen from sports growing up. Jake's older brother Tom was a great basketball player when he was our age, and while I've never been a basketball guy, I'd seen him around. Still, the rest of us shared something. In a way, I was okay with having a secret—it brought us closer together.

Jake and Rachel had already gotten there by the time I showed up, leaning my bike outside Cassie's barn. “Is Marco even coming?” Rachel asked.

“He'll show,” said Jake. “Give him time.”

Sure enough, he pulled in ten minutes later, waving. “Come on back,” said Cassie, nodding to the fields beyond the barn.

“Is that all for taking care of animals?”

She laughed. “Not anymore—this used to be all used as a farm, back in the day. I should show you the cows sometime.”

“I see enough cows in second period,” Marco sighed, “no thanks.”

“Axim...Ax,” Cassie abbreviated, “wanted to look at them today. Apparently he thinks quadrupeds are where it's at, but I'm guessing they didn't make much conversation.”

“So, what, he just walked out here? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of, you know, a hideout?”

“Not in morph,” said Cassie. “He said he was going to turn into that little... _djabala_ again. And something about being able to keep track of time in his head? I didn't understand.”

We drew nearer to the forest. “This is still yours?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It's a national forest, so technically no. But he shouldn't be disturbed here. I hope...”

Through one stand of trees, then the next. I started to wonder how much rain it took to keep all those grasses growing so tall—we didn't get much precipitation, which was great for kids playing sports and aliens making camp, but I hadn't really considered it in the context of mother nature. Maybe I should have been paying attention in science class, after all.

‹Who goes there!› It was Aximili, and he was ready to strike—tailblade arced up from behind him in what I could only figure was an aggressive stance. Maybe there wasn't much of a need to hide. With a weapon like that growing out of him, he could go tearing through any hallway without much trouble.

“Ssh. Ax?” said Cassie. “It's us.”

He looked us over, as if trying to see whether any of us had been infested overnight, then lowered his tail. ‹You came back! All of you.›

“Of course we did,” I said. “School's boring when we could be talking to aliens.”

‹You must remain vigilant,› he said, ‹and hope that you get no closer to the other visitors to this planet.›

“So what's all this about spying?” said Rachel. “Cassie said we could help.”

‹Come back this way,› he said, leading us between another stand of trees.

Once we came to a clearing, he produced the blue box that Rachel had drawn from the spaceship the night before. ‹This is the _Escafil_ device,› he said. ‹It is used to transmit the morphing technology—the power I displayed the other night.›

“Transmit?” said Jake.

‹We Andalites are not born with the capacity to morph. It was only a relatively new discovery that gave us the power—military officials first, then some civilians. Some people reject the technology entirely. But it works on the level of DNA, which means, potentially, any animal species could adopt it.›

“Any animal species?” I asked. “So, like, the _djabala—_ they turn into other creatures on your planet, too?”

“I don't think he means animals, like, wild animals,” said Rachel. “You mean, like—humans.”

Cassie's eyes widened. “That's how we could spy? By using that to turn into...what?”

‹Any animal that you touch, you could acquire its DNA. Then, you concentrate on the animal to transform into that species.›

“Like a bug, a fly on the wall?” said Marco. “Literally.”

“Only problem is, we don't know who or where these Yeerks _are_ ,” said Jake. “We can't spy on them any better than you can.”

‹But you can investigate humans on your own, watch where they come and go,› said Aximili. ‹Yeerks require nutrients to sustain themselves, like any life form; they must feed at a Yeerk pool at least every three days.› The idea of the “pool” flashing through my mind brought with it all sorts of connotations, somehow sent through the telepathy—not water like our own planet's depths, but some kind of alien material. ‹These would be hidden somewhere where the general public could not happen across them—at least, not if the infiltration was still total rather than all-out warfare.›

“Much better idea, we follow everyone around until they go somewhere suspicious.”

“Not everyone,” said Rachel, “people in positions of authority, that you'd want to make sure were trustworthy. Then you could warn them, alert them to the threat...”

“You're really serious about doing this,” said Marco. It wasn't a question, more another fact to get accustomed to, like the fact that the blue box gave people superpowers or the fact that we were talking to an alien who didn't have a mouth.

“Yeah,” I said, turning away from Aximili—for a moment I envied his stalk eyes, I wanted to take everyone in at once. “I...I dunno where to start, really, I don't know if we can be any use. But this is bigger than me, bigger than...” _Than any of us_ , I wanted to say, but it felt a little insulting to say that to Aximili. He was the first—not the first alien. What had he called himself, an Andalite? The first of them to come to Earth. “I mean, I'm in.” I didn't want to tell the others what to do, but it really did sound like the human race was at stake. I wasn't sure who _wouldn't_ rise to the occasion, if they were the only options available.

“Me too,” Jake was saying, we all were, and Aximili seemed to exhale more deeply.

‹Place your hand on the box,› he said, ‹it shouldn't take long.›

I reached out. It felt mostly just like a square box—not too impressive, in the wake of the spaceship we'd seen. The others crowded in around me, each pressing their hand to a different face of the cube. And then there was Aximili's—more fingers than ours, but still a different blue from the box.

Then it felt like a shock. Not painful, just a jolt—I wasn't sure whether it ran on electricity or what kind of alien power it used, but it only lasted a moment, and the cube went inert again. Aximili calmly took it back.

“That's it?” Rachel asked. We didn't feel any different.

‹That's it. Now, when you touch another creature, you can acquire its DNA.›

“There's some in the barn,” said Cassie. “Could we try it?”

‹Of course. But be careful—some morph's instincts can be overwhelming at first. You need to make sure the animal's brain does not overshadow your own. And you must return to your original human body—again, concentrate on its image in your mind, and it will reformulate—within...two of your Earth hours.›

“Why two hours?” Cassie asked.

‹You would become trapped in that body, unable to demorph.›

She gulped. “Well, then. Maybe you can come with us, to spot us, for a while?”

“How are we even going to keep track?” I asked. “I mean, a fly on the wall is going to be slightly noticeable wearing a watch.”

“Also slightly breaking the laws of physics,” said Jake.

“Also that.”

‹I have an aptitude for measuring time,› said Aximili. ‹As long as I am in morph alongside you, there should be no difficulties keeping track.›

“You're going to have a hard time fitting into Cassie's barn, though,” said Rachel.

“Could you morph one of us?” I asked. “I mean, we're animals—uh—like, not-plants, or however you meant it.”

“Like a clone?” Cassie asked.

‹Yes. However, if I were to temporarily interact in human society, it might be better for me to create a composite of your DNA. If I acquire each of you, I can merge the DNA into a single body—a human, but none of you individually.›

“That would be cool,” said Rachel. “Then you could even go out and meet other people, for a couple hours anyway.”

“It would be a blend of all our DNA? So you could, like, acquire two people, and then show them what it would look like if they had a kid?” Marco asked.

“Now _you_ could,” said Jake, nodding down at the _Escafil_ device.

“Man, it sucks about the fighting aliens thing, there are some serious uses for this power.”

‹May I?› Aximili asked. ‹Acquire you, that is?›

“Of course,” I said. “We're in this fight, now, what's a little DNA between friends?”

‹Friends?› he echoed. ‹I appreciate all of you being willing to join me, to fight for your planet, but you need not offer your friendship. I am far from my cousins, and I cannot say when the Andalite fleet will return to drive out the Yeerks.›

“Your cousins are part of the fight, too?” Jake asked.

‹Ah, no. My—my fellow Andalites, my people. Our families are small, before the war, my parents do not have—brothers or sisters. But someday, the fleet will return.›

“It sounds like the fleet didn't have a great night last night,” said Marco. Aximili stepped back. “Hey! What I'm saying is, this can't be easy for you, any of it—all this technology stuff—you don't have to do it alone. I mean, this still feels pretty crazy, but we want to help. Maybe we can even be, wait for it, friends.”

Aximili's eyes seemed to light up again. ‹Thank you,› he said, and took Marco's hand. For a few seconds, Marco seemed unfocused, staring into the trees, even after Aximili pulled away.

Then he blinked, laughing. “Huh. All right. So now you've got a copy of my DNA somewhere in there?”

‹Indeed! As you see, the process is brief, and perfectly harmless for the organism being acquired—you go into a bit of a trance, but that's only momentary.›

“Cool,” I said. “Bring it on.”

The box had been one thing, but holding hands with an alien was different. I guess I just kind of zoned out for a moment—the next thing I knew, I felt peaceful, which _was_ pretty strange in the midst of the “welcome to an interplanetary war, here are your powers, stay under wraps” treatment. All the same, I felt like there was nowhere I'd rather have been.

‹Thank you,› he said to me, moving on to acquire the others.

“My pleasure,” I smiled.

A few minutes later, Aximili had acquired all of us, and was ready to morph. Even if he wasn't shrinking down to the size of the _djabala_ , it was a pretty impressive change—his tail and stalk eyes melted away, while his body changed from blue to light brown, somewhere between Marco's skin tone and mine. His back legs vanished, and he lurched awkwardly, clearly unused to balancing on two legs.

“Whoa,” Cassie said. “Morphing works on the level of DNA—guys, maybe look away—”

I turned, and soon after, I heard a voice from behind me. “Hello? I am a human now. Now-uh. Do you see? S-s-s-see.”

“Do you stutter?” Marco asked.

“The instincts of this b-b-ody are to speak. Pee-kuh. It-tuh is new to-oo-oo me.”

I glanced behind me, and sure enough, he hadn't been able to “acquire” any clothing. “Okay. Yeah. You're not going to be able to walk around in Cassie's barn like that.” But as I turned away again, I heard a crash. “Are you all right?”

“It is hard to balance-lan-suh on two legs. Eg-eg-egs. Is this nat-ch-chural for all of you-oo?”

“Yeah, it's one of our species-wide talents,” said Marco. “Spaceships, morphing devices, fighting aliens is not our scene, usually, but walking around on two legs is our special bonus ability.”

“Maybe not today,” said Cassie. “Aximili, want to morph back? We'll try to find clothing for you next time, so you can go out in public.”

“I have some old stuff I've been meaning to get rid of,” said Marco, “go for it.”

“Would yours even fit?” Rachel asked.

Marco rolled his eyes. “I'll find something,” said Jake.

Silence from behind us, and then a reply in the telepathic language. ‹I am fully demorphed now.›

“Sorry about that,” I said. “We'll have something better for you next time.”

“Yeah,” said Cassie. “I'll see what's new in the barn, we can practice acquiring morphs. Tomorrow?”

“I guess so,” said Jake. “Who needs basketball practice when we have this, right?”

“Two hours is the limit,” I said, “but we could practice on our own before then?”

‹Technically, yes. I would not recommend a wild or unfamiliar animal.›

I laughed. “Wasn't the plan. Anyone want to meet Tony?”

“Who's Tony?” Rachel asked.

“My cat.”

 


	5. Neha

My name is Neha.

Just Neha. I have a last name, of course. I haven't always had this one, but it's mine, and I like it. Sometimes people have trouble spelling it at first, but that's okay. If they want to learn it—and I want to share it—they'll manage.

But I don't have to. Online, I have the right to be private, just like you—just like anyone who knows and understands and wants to use the web. Most people seem satisfied with where they're at, and I'mnnot about to start lecturing them—not my neighbors, not my family, not idiots who have to ask me whether they need to pay some kind of postage to send an e-mail.

All the same, there's work to be done. Making sure the government makes responsible laws, that internet providers respect user data, that people who _do_ care can know their rights to privacy. Even anonymity. For the times when we want to be just the Nehas of the world—or whatever usernames we choose.

Objectively, it hadn't been a very productive day at work. I'd had better ones, when I could get in the groove, and was capable of throwing myself into a project. I wouldn't say I lost track of time more or less than anybody else—keeping in mind the type of, with all due respect, nerds I tended to work alongside. When I was deep in the tangles of some nasty piece of code, or debugging one problem only to have two more spring up in front of me, I was as laser-focused as any.

This day wasn't like that. It was more a conscious choice of me trying to not get distracted. If I got lost in thought, I'd take a while to come back, and nobody would be any better off for it. So I caught up on bureaucratic tedium—cleaned out my voicemails, sent off a few irritated e-mails, and, yes, left a few voicemails for people who really needed to keep up and learn how to e-mail, they were computer professionals for crying out loud. I even dusted out a patch I'd been hoping to implement in the coming weeks and started commenting on it—the sort of annotations that I was normally too sloppy for, but couldn't realistically ignore if I was hoping to get work done.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a workaholic. I'd like to think I have as rich a life as anyone—sometimes rewarding, sometimes disappointing, but always full. That day was just easier to spend engrossed in the mechanisms of the desktop in front of me at work, though. At least, the working hours.

“Take care, Neha.” My boss turned off his screen saver and stood up.

No questions, not even concern that maybe I was overworking myself for one day, just “take care.” I appreciated that. “See you around,” I smiled.

He nodded. “Kids to pick up, and food...”

“In that order?”

“Not necessarily,” he laughed.

I waved, and continued work on the patch for another fifteen minutes before deciding I'd had enough. After taking the elevators down, I walked halfway down the block, then stopped in my tracks and remembered I didn't need to drive to the restaurant where I'd planned to get dinner. It was close enough to walk, and finding closer parking would be a nightmare. Besides, it wasn't like Sam or Enrique needed another excuse to make fun of my—eminently practical and safe—well-loved blue Dodge any further.

Instead, I turned and headed back through the streets, passing all kinds of commuters on their way home—mostly in cars a little newer than my own, a few huddling in bus stops, more to shield themselves from an unseasonable breeze than any threat of rain. Past storefronts and office buildings, and one (overpriced and full) parking garage, to where the warmth and the smell of the restaurant finally welcomed me inside.

The Indian grill was actually Enrique's choice, rather than mine. Left to my own devices, I tend to browse further afield than expect anyone to compete with my mom's cooking. But it had been years since I'd eaten at home day in, day out, and I was happy to have someone else make the call. Sure enough, Enrique was grinning at the table they'd taken in the back, and not because he'd started in on drinks. “Neha!”

“What's new?” I asked. “How's work? New cases?”

“Yeah!”

“Well?”

Enrique is a court interpreter. I always get curious about what he gets up to at work. “Embezzlement.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sounds thrilling.”

“How many petty thefts and civil disputes have you been brought in for, Enrique?” Sam asked, sipping his drink.

“Hmm, I lose count, they don't pay me by the case,” Enrique teased.

“Do they pay you for the number of times Neha asks what your case is about and it fails mightily to be a glorious struggle for internet privacy? That would probably be more profitable.”

“Come on!” I laughed. “I'm interested, whatever it is.”

“I get it, I get it,” said Enrique, “there would be more interesting things...”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Just once you should get sequestered so no one _else_ needs to listen to you,” Sam suggested.

“But it'd be _interesting_!” I said. “I mean, I'm pretty sure that's not how it works...”

The men exchanged glances, and then burst out laughing.

“Am I pouting?” I asked. “Or, doing that thing again?”

“Not exactly,” said Enrique.

“Not in _this_ moment,” Sam pointed out.

“Mm?” I went on.

“No, that moment—you were eating a bite of chicken—so your mouth was occupied, you can't have been doing the thing where you pout.”

I rolled my eyes, eating another bite of chicken. “Oh, for Pete's sake.”

“I never understood where that even comes from,” Enrique asked. “Not _Saint_ Pete?”

“Our Neha, getting religion?” Sam asked. “I don't think so.”

Unlike some of my friends, Sam and Enrique were not typically moved to get into fisticuffs at any etymological argument that sprung up. (Suffice it to say, there are some people I only go out for Chinese or occasionally Indian food with, because I don't want to chance them in bars at trivia night.) “At work we used it all the time a couple years ago to talk about one of our clients—Pete. He was a nice guy, but had funny ideas about the way things should be done, you know. So every little tweak was for Pete's sake. Of course he moved on, but it was our joke.”

Sam laughed. “I don't remember that.”

“I think you'd already left by then.” Sam and I met as coworkers, but he later took a job at “the competition” now—neither of us saw it that way, which again, is why we were never safety risks at trivia night. I'd always thought his new employers didn't have as tremendous a sense of humor as we did, but perhaps that was just because smaller enterprises like ours were the butt of their jokes.

He shrugged. “Time flies.”

“And how,” I muttered, remembering the date. Enrique must have seen me draw back, because he changed the subject. Something about how the roads in their neighborhood were under construction, and all the detours they had to take to get anywhere. He was enjoying it, having discovered several new breakfast stops along the way; Sam was taking it harder. However, he managed to get through an entire conversation about driving without once taking cheap shots at my Dodge, which was somewhat of a record.

Finally, the waiter came to ask if we wanted to split checks. “Sure,” I answered; “No,” said Enrique.

I blinked. “My treat,” Enrique said.

“Nah, come on, I'll get my own,” I said.

“You sure? This is my party, you know?”

“Don't be silly.”

The waiter, who had heard countless variations on this squabble over and over again, regarded us politely until I gave up. “Split checks,” I said.

“Two?” he ventured, looking from me to Sam, then over at Enrique.

“Three,” Sam suggested, with the tone of cutting off further debate, and we were too impressed by his surety to argue.

“Three!” said the waiter, hustling back to the cash register.

“It doesn't matter,” Sam said, turning to Enrique, “with what you spend on breakfast at those places out of the way, you can deal with split checks.”

“The donut place is _not_ that expensive,” Enrique protested.

“The donut place is the sketchiest hole-in-the-wall I've ever seen.”

“You need to see more holes in more walls. Neha! Want me to find adventures for Sam to go on?”

“If by 'help' you mean 'loan us her car so we'll fit right in'...”

And there it was. “With that attitude, how could I refuse.”

The waiter unceremoniously deposited three separate checks on the table. Enrique produced his credit card, while Sam and I paid with cash, leaving decent tips but doing the arithmetic in silence. Only when we were on our way out did Enrique quietly ask, “So, how are you?”

“I'm all right,” I said.

He nodded, and caught up with Sam rather than push the issue. I followed, a few steps behind. But just as we were about to part ways, they for whatever fancy parking garage they'd found and me for the faithful lot, I blurted, “It would have been our anniversary, today.”

Vipul and I had met in Silicon Valley—young, ambitious, ready to take on the world and stopped in our tracks by each other. Our wedding was small. Both of us had large extended families in India, but it was too much hassle and expense for most of them to visit. His younger brother had just found a job nearby, though, so he came, and some of our friends from work. A year and a half later, we moved—we'd both been excited for the new opportunities, and I loved my new company. It was where I met Sam, took on silly clients and enjoyed them all, and Vipul seemed content with his new position as well.

But we grew apart. Both faithful, no violence or anger, just mounting misunderstandings. He invited me out to meet his new friends; I found them uniformly dull, just as he found mine absurd. I tried to remember what I'd fallen in love with not so long before, his kind touch, his quiet intelligence, his enthusiasm for new ideas—and while my own memory was as stirring a fantasy as I could hope for, the man before me wasn't that. I told myself I was being unrealistic, that I'd hypothesized an unattainable partner, but I've never been one to let dreams run away with me. The fact was, I was no longer happy with Vipul. We divorced quietly, and that had been that.

I told myself I was more fortunate than many—women I knew who had children splitting time between homes, who had messy financial negotiations to endure, even stories of abuse were possible. And it was easy to come around to what the data supported—things could be much worse. Most of the year, they were. Still, the night wouldn't go by without comment.

Sam gave a wistful smile. “It's all right. Marriage isn't for everyone.”

“Don't be so sure,” I muttered, “I'll call Darnell, I'm sure he has some kind of ceremony for _every_ occasion.”

“But you'd fall asleep halfway through if we made you go to his church, so that's out,” said Sam.

“You underestimate me! I can stay awake for you guys. And Darnell.”

“Sam is setting the bar low,” explained Enrique, “so he has an excuse for falling asleep once I drag him to the donut place.”

Sam yawned. “Maybe the weekend.”

Enrique nodded with unwarranted trust in Sam's willingness to get up before noon on a weekend, then glanced up at the sky, distracted. “Look, Orion!”

“Orion's belt! That's the only constellation I know.”

“Is that actually a constellation?” Enrique asked.

“Asterism,” I shrugged, “same difference. But those stars aren't actually that close together.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“We don't have any depth perception, looking out into space. So they only look near because they're so bright—some of them are much farther away, but relative to each other, they could be pretty distant. Even if they look like a pattern, they're really standing alone.”

Enrique whistled. “That is deep.”

“Literally,” I said.

“Take care,” Sam waved, and finally, I headed back to my car.


	6. Rachel

My name is Rachel.

As in, “Ra-ch-ch-chul! On your right. Ight!”

I dove to my right, stretched out my arms, hands linked, and lunged for the oncoming volleyball. Moments before I fell into the sand, I hit it skyward, and it bounced up just in time for Marco to spike it forward.

I've always been more into gymnastics—my dad's been into it for years, and he got me hooked—but honestly, I'm probably too tall to take it very seriously at this point. It does mean, however, that I make a mean volleyball threat. This was good, because our team was dealing with multiple problems. One, Marco, despite his energy, is really not that much of a threat. Two, Jake and Tom were on the other team. And Jake seemed to be working really hard to impress his older brother after not making the basketball team, even though Tom seemed to have left basketball behind in favor of the club we were gatecrashing.

Third, and most distractingly, the reason we'd come to the beach bonfire, with all the volleyball and food and entertainment in sight, was to provide an introduction to human culture for our alien “teammate.”

After a few days, we'd learned to practice “morphing.” Under Ax's inspection, not only had I become Tony the tomcat, but also a wildcat from Cassie's barn. Ax was right—controlling the morph's instincts was difficult at first, but not impossible, and with a little practice Cassie had even been able to morph skintight clothing. But that didn't change the fact that he was still isolated, unable to gather information about any threat to the planet. If he was to learn more, it had to be in morph, such as that composite human he'd built from all of us.

The Sharing had seemed like as good a place as any to start. Tom had mentioned it several times over the past year, in glowing terms, but between sports and school I was too busy to really join any new clubs. And a side extracurricular of morphing into animals wasn't keeping me any less busy. Still, he'd said, the bonfire was open to everyone, so we dropped by. I wasn't sure what the club really did, but they seemed to prize being inclusive, no matter who you were. Maybe what planet you came from didn't make a difference, either.

So Ax showed up. We were pretending he was Marco's cousin, visiting from out of town. The only wrinkle was that Tobias, who was otherwise very happy to spend time talking with Ax and learning more about the Andalite, hadn't wanted to come—apparently, he just hates bonfires. Ax had suggested a compromise. Since Tobias had acquired a hawk from Cassie's barn, he could keep an eye on the proceedings from above. So far, that seemed to be going okay.

The volleyball, less so. Tom sent another shot back over the net, and Ax jumped to knock it back, only to trip over and wipe out again. “So much sand-duh!” he protested, climbing up as if indignant about having to stand on two feet. “It is so granular. Yoo-yoo-yoo-lar. Is that not a pleasant sound?”

“You okay, dude?” Marco asked.

“I am fine, but slightly bruised. Bruis-ed.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Anyone want to sub in? I think Phillip and I are going to get snacks.” “Phillip” was Ax's secret identity.

“We're in,” said a familiar voice. It was Mrs. Chapman, whose daughter Melissa was one of my good friends from gymnastics. She was with her husband, Mr. Chapman, who's also our assistant principal.

“Hey,” I said. “Where's Melissa?”

“She stayed in tonight,” said Mr. Chapman. “Math homework isn't doing itself.”

“You set the curriculum rough enough so that your own kid has to stay home while you come out here and have fun?” Marco asked, waving Ax with him. “That's cold.”

“Tell her to give me a call if she needs help, okay?” I asked. “I'm having a hard time with it too. It might be better to discuss it with someone.”

While I've never been as close with Melissa as I am with Cassie, the last few weeks she'd seemed more distant. Part of it was my fault, I guess, what with Ax showing up and complicating everything, but even beyond that, I couldn't tell what was eating her. If there was any way I could help, I wanted to. “Will do,” said Mr. Chapman. “Is it my serve?”

Thanks to the newcomers, we caught up and even pulled ahead of the other team, which was fun. It was at that point, with me about to serve to Tom, that I heard noises coming from the barbecue pit. “I must have more! More of the delicious ribs! Lih-shush.”

“I'm tapping out,” said Jake, catching my eye.

“Me too,” I said, walking over the sand to where Ax was shoving a plate full of ribs into his mouth. Okay, not literally the entire plate, but I think he might have done it.

He bit off another rib and seemed to swallow it, bones and all, before Cassie seized the plate. “Phillip,” she hissed, “you're attracting attention.”

He gulped, probably choking down what was left of the rib. “But it is so flavor-vor-ful!”

“Keep your voice down,” said Marco.

“I am sorry,” he said. Attention wasn't what we wanted—not here, in a crowd of strangers.

“Phillip?” Jake asked. “How long can we stay for?”

“Can we—oh. Forty-ty-ty-nine minutes.”

Until he had to morph back to Andalite. That was another thing he did, just compute the time perfectly. We had no idea how; we couldn't do it, when we were in morph. What we _could_ do, we'd discovered, was communicate in thought-speech—that silent telepathy that Andalites used in lieu of mouths. To each other or to humans nearby, if we wanted. I wasn't sure whether we could do it as normal humans, too—Jake had said that Cassie had done it to him once, when he was in horse morph out by Ax's clearing, but she hadn't been able to reproduce it since.

“Maybe we should head out,” said Marco. “You've learned plenty about—uh—American culture for one night, you know? First rule is don't swallow ribs whole.”

“Probably,” said Jake. “If you want to be safe on time, you can...change back, first, I think. There's a lifeguard stand down the beach, if you want to come change first?”

“Where's Tobias?” I asked. “You brought clothes for him, right?”

“He'll see us heading over,” Cassie said.

Sure enough, once we'd gathered at the lifeguard stand, Tobias touched down, starting to demorph once we'd turned from on him and Ax. After giving us the all-clear, he said, “So, they seem to be setting up some chairs and stuff way down the beach.”

“Yeah,” said Jake, “the full members are having a meeting.”

“The full members?” he repeated.

“Like Tom. And Mr. Chapman, I guess, not just the visitors.”

Tobias blinked. “Feels like a funny time to have a meeting. In the dark, after all the volleyball...”

Cassie shrugged. “They have to clean up anyway. Might as well.”

“Hmm. Hey, Aximili? Do you think I could stay and listen in? The bird's hearing is really good.”

“Why are you ask-k-k-ing me?”

“I mean, this was for you, even if...it didn't work out so great?” Bird eyesight is, from what Tobias informed us, also pretty great—good enough to give him a sense of what had happened with the ribs. “I don't want to stick around if you guys are done.”

“I can stay with you,” I said. Tobias was a sweet guy, and it had been hard enough to talk him into coming at all. If he wanted to stick around, so much the better. “In cat morph, maybe?”

“I think that'd be good, yeah. Not like anyone here will recognize Tony,” he laughed.

Jake shrugged. “If you guys want. See you later, then?”

“Yeah,” said Tobias. “Bye, everyone. Bye, Aximili. Glad you had...fun.”

“Thank you,” said Ax. “I appreciate human taste very-ary much.”

No wonder. Talking was hard enough when you weren't used to having a mouth; taste was probably too much to ask. Still, it could have been worse, I figured.

Once the others had headed back up the beach, Tobias and I turned again, and I stacked my clothes in a pile before morphing cat. ‹Cassie _has_ to teach us how she does clothes,› I complained, pacing along the beach.

‹Yeah, yeah,› he said, taking off into the sky.

It took me a little longer to get there, which was okay; the cat was confident, but it didn't really like hanging out under large birds, even by night. Down the dunes, towards the rows of chairs, avoiding the surf.

The voice talking at the group sounded familiar. Mr. Chapman? Yes, and he was talking about scheduling. Future meetings, maybe?

Then unfamiliar jargon. “...Hork-Bajir need to be fed...control the Taxxons...Visser expects adequate progress.”

‹Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. Rachel? Rachel!›

‹What?› I asked, trying not to react. All of the talk was equally gibberish to the cat, anyway. At least, these humans were not creatures that wanted to feed it or tend to it. Unimportant.

‹A Visser...I think that's something Aximili mentioned. Yeerks!›

‹Yeerks? Here?› He'd said they were on the planet, of course. Close enough to hide from. But hiding here, in plain sight? Or, maybe not so plain. Secluded, locked away from the casual members and visitors...

‹These “full members,” with their secret, you know, recruitment and stuff. Those must be the—the Controllers! And this is where they make plans!›

I tried listening again. “...the police have reported no further complaints about the Andalite spacecraft that we destroyed, only the reports of lights in the sky. We believe there is no reason to fear that any humans made contact with the spaceship itself. As for the original sightings, so long as we do not take efforts to bring them to public attention, they will no doubt be disregarded as other typical human misidentifications.”

‹That's Yeerks, all right,› I said. ‹They know about the spaceship.›

‹We should get out of here.›

‹Don't you want to stay? Learn more?›

‹We don't have a watch.›

‹It's only been a few minutes. How are we supposed to learn anything, if we leave now? Ax wants to fight back, we have to find something out.›

‹If...if you're up for it, I'll stay with you.›

‹Just a little bit,› I promised. The truth is, I was freaking out. Yeerks, right here? That meant that Mr. Chapman...and _Tom..._

But we couldn't just leave, I told myself. If we wanted to help Ax, help keep our planet safe, we needed to learn more.

It was clearly not meant for beginning parasites, though. Lots more jargon I wasn't familiar with. Some of the Controllers sounded nervous that Ax's spaceship had been seen as a UFO, and others tried to calm them down basically by saying humans were too dumb to know what was going on (something about “Skrit Na”? Which Tobias did not recognize).

Finally, they dispersed; slowly, I tried to walk back towards the rest of the beach, just looking like a lost cat as I made my way back to the lighthouse stand. Tobias joined me there a few minutes later. ‹This hearing really is great,› he said. ‹I heard Mr. Chapman say she was going back to the Yeerk pool on Monday night.›

‹Yeah, any idea where?›

‹It could be in The Sharing itself,› he said. ‹It's like some kind of...cult. They take people in and brainwash them. Brain-slug them, I guess.›

‹We could follow Chapman,› I said. ‹Check to see if Melissa's okay. They...they even take kids. Like Tom.›

‹It's horrible,› said Tobias, as we started demorphing.

A few minutes later, we stood alone on the beach. “At least we know more,” I said. “We could spy on their real meetings, maybe. How small of an animal do you think we could be? Bugs?”

“Sure!” he laughed. “I'm sorry. This isn't funny. But you're right, at least we know something. And...”

“Yeah?”

He looked up at me, shivering in the darkness. “Maybe we can fight back.”


	7. Jake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays, some sicknesses and other stresses came up. Nothing major though, hoping to get this back on schedule!

My name is Jake.

And I was at what had become, for being incredibly weird and unusual, part of my normal routine. Visiting Cassie's barn, and trekking out past the fields into the forest behind the plot, where Ax kept his meager belongings. A few days before, I'd helped Cassie salvage a tarp to haul out there and provide a little shelter from the wind. Beyond that, he was alone, supposedly feeding off the grass. Except for our visits, when we brought him snippets of human culture to absorb—he loved the World Almanac—and he told us what he knew about the Yeerk troops. Rachel and Tobias had overheard some of their conversation—there were Hork-Bajir, tall, bladed creatures. Taxxons—long, many-legged carnivores. Vissers—important Yeerk leaders, with their own dangerous spaceships.

Of course, Tom gave me no end of teasing that I was spending so much time at Cassie's. Except, it wasn't really Tom anymore.

My brother was a Controller. I hadn't known. Nobody could have known, not my parents, not his friends or teachers or anyone. The Yeerk saw everything in his brain, Ax explained, could quote anything he would have said and knew just how his mind interpreted everything. It didn't make me feel any better. Shouldn't I have felt _something_ different?

‹Nobody else does, either. You are not unique—this is how the invasion has gone on, undetected.›

“So you're saying we humans are useless, is that it?”

‹No! It is just that...our home planet has not been threatened. On our world, there are no Controllers.›

“Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be useless,” said Marco. “I'm not sure I want to go down and fight those things.”

I'd followed Chapman. It was the least I could do, I felt, after what Rachel and Tobias had told us. With what I'd known about Tom, there was never any chance I was going to focus on class anyway. So I morphed a lizard, tried to sneak into his office, and accidentally discovered a Yeerk pool entrance right below our school.

There are things you can learn about lizards from reading books. There are probably more things you can learn from dissecting them, or doing experiments in science class. But it's one thing to do that, and another thing to really _know_ that a green anole's tail is detachable, that if you step on it the tail will just come right off and it can scurry along.

I'd practiced, of course. Ax had gotten us in the habit of doing that. Some instincts still come as a surprise.

‹You should not have to,› said Ax. ‹This is my war—not yours.›

There it was. I didn't think he sounded _that_ much older than us, sometimes—the way he got all curious about the planet Earth. We had to explain to him how so many different-looking types of species that flew through the air could all be birds, how everyone's mother was a female (well, Marco's was dead—and the effect him risking his life might have had on his dad was one reason why he didn't seem really excited about picking a fight with the Yeerks, I thought—but the point stood), and how you weren't allowed to eat litter. And yet, by the standards of his own people, he was old enough to enlist and cross the galaxy to fight and maybe die for the freedom of a planet he knew nothing about.

“I don't think you really believe that,” said Rachel. “I don't think you have, ever since you gave us that morphing power.”

He stiffened. ‹Maybe so. But all the same, it's a power for espionage. It can't turn you into a warrior.›

“Says who?” I asked. “A hawk or a housecat isn't much use in a fight, but Rachel became a wildcat. Marco became a wolf.” These were animals that the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic was tending to—since morphing worked on the DNA level, they'd morphed into healthy, uninjured versions of those animals, just like Ax did when he morphed to heal.

“You're saying we turn into _wolves_ and go down there to fight Yeerks?” Marco asked.

“What about The Gardens?” Tobias asked. “You could get us in there, right, Cassie? We could—acquire—some of the more powerful animals.”

She nodded. “That would work.”

‹Become Earth animals?› Ax said. ‹I suppose some of them might be more dangerous than your natural forms.›

“This isn't about your tradition anymore,” I said. “I mean, maybe it was _designed_ for spying on Yeerks, but you weren't expecting to share technology with humans. And here we are. If the power works, I say, any help we can get.”

“Do you actually want to do this?” Marco asked.

“Go in there? Fight aliens?” Cassie asked. “Of course not. I don't think anybody would want to. But...”

“But we can't just let it happen either?” he said. “Not if there was something we could do. For Tom, for all of them...”

‹I won't order anyone into the fight,› said Ax.

“Maybe we could vote?” I asked.

‹Vote!› he laughed. ‹Civilians.›

“We don't have to,” said Cassie, “we decide for ourselves.”

Marco sighed. “Is anyone actually not doing this?”

We sat in silence. How many times had we been to The Gardens, just to look at animals kept in cages? And now we were about to visit to take on the powers of those animals ourselves, to fight for people kept slaves underground.

“What's that?” Tobias said.

“What's what?” Cassie asked.

He was pointing at a sort of flower I'd never seen before. I mean, I'm not a huge plant nerd or anything, but it looked kind of...alien.

‹It's a wish-flower,› Ax explained. ‹That survived the _GalaxyTree_. You see, it is taking root here.›

He paused. ‹On the homeworld, we have enormous trees. Guide Trees. They speak to us, in their own simple way, at the time of rituals. I thought that this is all that remains from the grass of home, but perhaps there are other seedlings of the dome, too.›

“Seedlings,” said Marco. “I kind of like that. Just one question.”

‹Anything.›

“If we have a catchy name, does that mean we get discounts at the amusement park?”


	8. Tom

My name is Tom.

Mine. Not Temrash 114, the Yeerk who's stolen my body, making my life a living hell. Though the Yeerks address Temrash in my body, and Temrash answers all the humans who think they're talking to me, I'm still here.

I waited in a cage, while Temrash swam in the Yeerk pool. Feeding, of some kind, soaking up the Kandrona rays. How they got down there I don't understand, but alien science anyway.

At least I wasn't a voluntary, I told myself, glancing again at their TV and their food. It was impossible to be jealous of their tiny pleasures, after what I'd gotten used to. I had my dignity. Maybe no one else thought it counted for anything—certainly, I couldn't trade it for much—but when it was all I had, I clung to that.

A normal night, normal by my horrific standards. Screaming at the Hork-Bajir guards, enjoying the pleasure of controlling my own mouth. Normal until it suddenly wasn't.

There were aliens. More than usual. Something blue and four-legged like Visser Three himself—but smaller, and lashing into the nearest Hork-Bajir. An Andalite! An Andalite who'd come to Earth, and was fighting back! We'd been told that they'd all died in the space battle, but clearly some had survived.

And there were other creatures too, tearing into the Taxxons. Earth creatures, but these were not wild animals. They had to be Andalites in morph! A tiger, a wolf, a wildcat, a rhinocerous, what I thought was a lynx. They plunged into the mob, scattering Controllers left and right.

Strangely enough, they didn't seem to attack the human-Controllers. Were these the high-and-mighty Andalites, who supposed they owned the galaxy but couldn't be bothered to come to the attention of us puny humans?

And then, through a gap created by strewn Taxxon body parts, they came charging forward. At least, the wolf, the rhino, and the unmorphed Andalite did. Out of instinct, maybe, we backed away. But I wasn't afraid. What could they do to us, that was worse than what we already went through? Even our deaths couldn't be covered up. People on the surface would get curious, and then, maybe, something could change.

Then the wolf was at the bars of the cages, clawing them open. The Andalite's tail blade struck, and other bars fell free. Beyond us, I could see the other Andalites fighting as more Yeerks pushed forward.

The cage was gone. Somehow, the cage that had trapped me was gone. And I charged. My fists curled by instinct—no! Not instinct, my own choice to fight, to stand up to the Yeerks even if I had nothing. I would show them anyway. The wolf was waving to us, almost gesturing—but Andalites who'd been here long enough to discover these animals would have learned something about human behavior, surely?

There were others who followed me. Humans and even Hork-Bajir, slicing free from their cages and joining the Andalites. And in the back of my head, impossibly, I almost thought I heard someone shout my name. It couldn't be, of course, it was all too chaotic, but somehow...

‹Get to the stairs!› the Andalite called, ‹move!›

We ran, humans and Hork-Bajir and Andalites alike, ran with speed we barely remembered controlling of our own accord. I thought I would trip and fall, it had been so long since I could do anything but pace the tiny cage, and yet I was there on my feet.

There were Taxxons armed with Dracon beams. Too many to fend off? Why had the Andalites charged in, so hopelessly outnumbered? Surely they'd known what happened in the battle? And yet, their morphs tore apart the Controllers—there was the wildcat, slashing through a pair of Taxxons who took aim at the rhino, but missed as they had to flee from the stairs.

More Taxxons poured forward, shouting battle instructions into the fray. And behind them, there was Visser Three, the Andalite-Controller. He turned to the other Andalites, taunting them in thought-speak, before beginning to morph into a larger creature.

The Andalites froze up. I couldn't understand. They'd crossed the galaxy, they'd fought the Visser's Blade Ship in orbit, most of them had died, they knew he was here, was to blame for the deaths of their fellows. They knew that for years and years, one of their own had lived in the embarrassment of captivity, and that host possessed the power to morph just like them. They'd found the Yeerk pool, charged in, and fought to set us free. But up against the Visser, they were almost as frozen as if they'd been taken captive themselves.

“He's just one creep!” I yelled. “Move!”

I don't know if they did their telepathy thing to each other or what, but finally, after what felt like an eternity of standing still, they moved, and we ran with them. Again. Until a whiz of heat shot past my face—I turned around, and there was an enormous monster with way too many heads, all issuing fire that shot up at us. Visser Three, morphed.

Another ball of fire almost burned the wildcat, who leaped forward in panic. Then there were Taxxons piling in, separating me from a couple of Hork-Bajir escapees I'd been fleeing with.

I flung myself at the nearest, as if I could morph some dangerous Earth animal too. I must have looked crazy, flailing there with nothing but my fists, not even a Dracon beam. But after months of looking perfectly normal with an alien in my head, crazy was good enough.

Above me, the Andalites were still climbing. How many humans were still with them? I couldn't see, busy punching a Taxxon.

More fire, just past me. Was I enough of a distraction that the Andalites were getting away? Were there free hosts with them? I had to believe as much, but with so many heads for the Visser to aim with, maybe I wasn't amounting to anything.

Then yet another Taxxon, this one holding a Dracon beam. I dodged the laser, one way, a gaping mouth, from the other direction, a fireball, from below. No space to move in, no direction to turn. I was trapped on a high staircase, death on every side.

Another Taxxon edged forward, and I fell. Down from the staircase, towards the cages and the pool and the sheds below, and I remember thinking once again, death wouldn't be so bad.

Instead, I wiped out. The next thing I remember, the Andalites were gone, the Visser was alive, and Temrash was in my head, crowing, standing up on my bruised legs as we made our way back to the infernal staircase.

He replayed my memories back, laughing at those few priceless minutes of defiance. ‹You thought someone called your name?› he asked. ‹You humans, falling for the first delusion that comes to mind when you get the chance. You really ought to be grateful you have us to keep you on track.›

‹I think someone _did_ ,› I said. ‹I believe as much, anyway.›

‹You do?›

‹When hope is all I have? Then yeah. Sure.›


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be other stories set in this universe, I'm not sure what I'll be up for plowing through though. Maybe just shorter interludes down the line?
> 
> Either way, thanks for reading.

Sonja yawned, rolling over on the futon in front of the TV. I smiled as I paced over to her. “Time for bed?”

“'m not tired,” she protested unconvincingly.

I tsked. “Well, I'm sure you'll be well-rested in the morning! What can I make you for breakfast, French toast?”

She paused, thinking it over. “Can you make me a smoothie now?”

I'll never claim to be a perfect father. I have plenty of weaknesses, and one of them is my children asking me to cook. It _was_ a tempting idea.

Fortunately, my wife stepped in. “No, Sonja, bedtime.”

“But dad—”

“If you want a smoothie,” she said, “you can ask for one before eight, and Dad will help make you one then.”

Sonja climbed up from the futon, deep in thought. “It _is_ before eight,” she finally protested, “before eight in the morning.”

At an appraising _she-gets-it-from-you_ look, I stepped in. “And if I make you a smoothie tomorrow, _not only_ will it be before eight at night, but _also_ before eight the next morning. Eh? What do you think?”

This stopped Sonja in her tracks. Yes, there was a wrinkle in the logic, but it was a more nuanced teaser than the normal “big brothers get to go out with their friends late at night; little sisters have bedtimes to stick to” injustices.

“It's bedtime for us, too,” I said, “come on.”

Reluctantly, Sonja clambered upstairs, with us behind. She paced to the kitchen, and I, too, shot a tempted look at the appliances. But she merely retrieved a bag of cat food from the counter and began filling up the bowl, giving us a glare as she replaced it. “Goodnight,” she finally said, hugging us. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” we said, before going to bed ourselves.

My wife also seemed pretty exhausted. A guidance counselor at the high school, she wakes up early to leave for school before even the kids do. While her days aren't as long as they get in the spring, when she coaches sports, she does get pretty tired even on a normal winter night, and seemed ready to sleep.

I, however, sat on the edge on the bed, not noticing she'd crept onto my side until she began giving me a backrub. Exhaling, I breathed more slowly, enjoying her touch.

“Anything new for you?” she asked quietly.

“Neha's doing well,” I said. “She's got a nice patch in the works, so we're pleased with that.”

“Pleased?”

“That I don't have to do it myself.”

“You make it sound like it would be a hardship.”

I sighed. “It's not what they pay me to do,” I finally said, lying down and reaching for some of the covers. “And how was your day?”

“As well as can be expected. We're supposed to get a new rubric for addressing cheating.”

“Cheating?”

“On standardized tests, you silly.”

“Oh. You don't need a rubric to deal with the other kind?”

“That's not what they pay us to do,” she laughed, “With our sensitivity and good judgment, we can deal with it on a case-by-case basis.”

I nodded. “Any word from our friends?”

“You saw Neha how many hours ago?” she teased.

“She really is brilliant!” I protested. “She might have had some great breakthrough in the meantime on her own, you never know.”

“And she'd prefer some more secure system than the plebian phone lines to share that with you, I suppose.”

“There is that,” I admitted.

I'd met Neha and Sam, and by extension Enrique, through work; Darnell and my wife had met at a church conference event, and later that week, he modestly—but impressively—wiped the floor with me at bar trivia. Of course, we both had plenty of co-workers and friends, but it was nice to have a more close-knit circle. Particularly, I thought, for our kids to spend holidays and gatherings with. Neither of us had given them much in the way of an extended family to visit. Even if there were no cousins for sleepover or birthday parties, there were at least family friends to drop in on gymnastics meets or baseball games every once in a while.

Maybe if we'd met them when the kids were younger, we'd have called them unofficial “aunts” or “uncles.” As it was, it felt weird to do that—but all the same, they were my closest friends, and sometimes I couldn't put into words how grateful I was to have them all in our lives. We didn't share everything, of course. Sometimes it was our individual differences that we respected the most, and that took all sorts of forms—including, in Neha's case, a flair for computerized encryption. If that led to us not hearing from her for a while outside of work, it was worth it for her to continue being her unique self.

“Well, goodnight,” said my wife, pecking me on the cheek.

“Love you,” I responded. A few minutes later, the steady rhythm of her breath told me she'd already drifted off.

I don't think I slept, at least for a while, though I might have. It wasn't unusual for me to stay up later—some nights I'd just go back to playing on our home computer, as much as she told me the light of the screen wasn't good for my eyes at that hour. The truth is, I preferred to stay awake until I heard our son come back. We'd negotiated that no, he didn't have to climb into our room and wake us up to remind us that he'd gotten home safely, he could play with his friends like a responsible teenager, but all the same, old habits died hard. No matter how fast my kids grew up, I wanted to have an eye or two out for them.

At last, the clanking of the screen door shook me from my stupor. I heard him shut the front door behind him, then clamber into his own bed. Another uneventful night, presumably. With the way he'd been complaining about an upcoming math test, there was no way he was going to party too hard.

_Goodnight, Tobias_ , I thought silently, and let sleep come.


End file.
